Waiting for Harry
by Laziness Incarnate
Summary: Ron and Hermione are waiting for Harry to get that seventh Horcrux, and so are we. Metatextual.


**Waiting for Harry**

"I wish he would hurry up," said Ron.

"Oh, do be quiet," Hermione snapped at him. "It's not like finding a Horcrux is like buying milk from the grocery."

The two of them had been camped out for three days in front of a large, ominous, standard-issue Castle of Doom, inside which the seventh and final Horcrux purportedly resided. Harry had been the only one able to enter.

"I wish I'd brought a chess set," said Ron.

"I wish I'd brought a book," said Hermione for the fifth time that morning.

"You have SEVEN books, and they all weigh a good twenty kilos at the very least."

"But I've read them all already," she protested. "I even managed to read all of them twice over while we were waiting for the fourth Horcrux. That one simply took ages."

Ron sighed, deciding it wasn't worth arguing her out of her her literary madness. Better literary than literal madness.

It was unbearable, this waiting for the end. The end of their long road that had started seven years ago when they'd all sat in the same car on the _Hogwarts Express_, where Ron had started things off by offering a Chocolate Frog to a quiet boy with broken glasses, and then a really annoying girl with topiary for hair had offered to magically fix said broken glasses, and then the boy with the glasses had looked so absurdly grateful for these small favours that Ron had felt a small squeezing feeling in his heart that had only gotten stronger over time. A long road indeed.

Ron studied Hermione, whose hair no longer resembled topiary quite so much. "What are you staring at?" she asked him crossly. Yes, a very long road.

"Nothing," he answered. "Just you."

Her eyes flickered away, suddenly shy to his gaze, and she said, "Not much to look at then."

"That's what I said to Harry seven years ago."

He let her slap him on the arm, knowing she wouldn't put much force behind it.

"But you're beautiful now," he told her sincerely. "Look, I know you don't really care about that sort of nonsense anyway. There are lots of pretty girls--"

"Like Lavender Brown?"

He winced but went on gamely, "--but you, you're actually interesting."

"That's the word they use for homely girls who don't want to be told they're homely."

"I mean it," he said earnestly. "I thought you were really simple when I first met you--ow!--I mean, I knew you were SMART, but I thought you were simple. Straightforward. Easy to understand."

"I'm glad you thought so much of me."

"But now when I look at you, you look interesting to me. It's like you're this amazing puzzle that I can't find the answer to."

"I don't think I'm quite that puzzling."

He tried to put it in a way she would understand. "You're like a book I want to read over, and over, and over. Thoroughly, completely." He let his voice deepen so she'd get the point. Judging by the blush that starting to form on her cheeks, she did.

"Well," she said, smoothing out her robes to distract him, "I'm glad you came to your senses and realized I'm an interesting person."

"Oh yes, I'm very interested in your person."

This earned him another, less-gentle whack on the arm. "I can't believe you'd say something like that while we're waiting for Harry to come back from such a...a..."

"Deathly situation?"

"Deathly is not a word."

"It is now."

"There might be Dementors or Vampires or worse things in there."

"You mean like the Inferi? That was in the sixth, I doubt we'll see them again."

"Yes, we will."

"No, we won't"

"You don't have to make this so hard," she muttered, and he realized abruptly that she was hiding how terrified she was--for Harry, for herself, for Ron. He knew because the uncertainty was killing him too. Once they had the seventh Horcrux they had to somehow try to kill Voldemort, somehow keep Harry alive, somehow not die themselves, and then...after that...

"What will happen after?" he wondered quietly. "We've all been so focussed on getting here, we haven't even thought about what comes after."

"I have thought about it," Hermione answered, "more than you might think. We shall most certainly be busy in the aftermath--"

"For a while," pressed Ron, "but after that..."

"After that," Hermione continued, "I think there will be some new problem to occupy our attention. Why, in _Hogwarts, a History_--"

"Not _Hogwarts, A History_," he groaned.

"If you've read it," she ignored him, "you'll know that history never stands still. And that's just the history of a school."

He gaped at her openly. "Did you just call _Hogwarts, a History_ JUST a history of a school?"

She didn't even bother glaring at him. "We're adults now, Ron. Hogwarts was the story of our childhood, and no matter how much we loved it, we had to leave it eventually." She looked up at him a little sadly. "All books are a little fantastical."

Her eyes were so dark, almost haunting. When had she become this beautiful? he wondered for the thousandth time. All he knew was that she'd grown up when he hadn't been looking, become utterly fascinating and difficult and oh, he wanted to marry her so. He didn't care that it was stupid to think about that kind of thing right now. He just wanted to say "love" and "forever" in the same sentence and mean it.

"Listen, Hermione," he said fervently, "I don't know about history--you know Binns always put me to sleep--but what I wanted to ask you about was...more personal. What are you going to do after Voldemort's dead?"

"Well," she said, "I was thinking about doing some investment banking. The stock market is frankly pilloried right now--"

"Not like that," he interrupted her. "I mean what are WE going to do?"

"Us?" she repeated, confused. "Why? You don't intend to suddenly fly away to Romania or anything like that, do you?"

"No. But I have something in mind."

He wished he had a ring but he didn't, so he simply took her hand. He took a deep breath. He took a flying leap.

"Hermione, will you--"

But Hermione was not looking at him. She was looking over his shoulder.

"There he is!" she exclaimed excitedly. "It's Harry! He has it! The seventh!"

She slipped out of his grasp and ran past him, toward Harry, almost tackling him in a fierce hug. Harry was battered and scorched, his robes hanging off him in ragged pieces, but there was a smile on his face--tired, but genuine. He was still their Harry.

Ron put the imaginary ring back in his pocket and waved, because he'd been waiting for a long time too. Everything else could wait until their quest was done. He came to Harry's side and put an arm around him and Hermione both.

"Hey," he said. "We've missed you." 

The End. Almost.

* * *

Note for posterity: this fic was written in the month before _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows _was released. 


End file.
